


anything that is beautiful (people want to break)

by cinnabun



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13115181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnabun/pseuds/cinnabun
Summary: You're supposed to be excited. This is a happy occasion. But instead you can't stop doubting yourself. All because of how you look. And what you don't understand, is just how beautiful he thinks you really are. Good thing he's got just the trick up his sleeve to prove those ugly little thoughts otherwise.(2K One-Shot Commission - Mettaton/Reader: First Kiss Scenario)





	anything that is beautiful (people want to break)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for the commission, darling! I hope you enjoy it !! ❤

* * *

 ❤ ❤ ❤

* * *

You really hated how you looked.

It wasn’t the healthiest mindset, but damn if you just. Hated looking in the mirror sometimes. Of course, you knew you weren’t the only one with this problem—there were people all over the world who had the same whole “weight issue” thing. Sometimes it helped to ease your worries a little bit. Sometimes it just made the sting a whole lot worse.

Right now, you were somewhere in the middle.

What kind of outfit was this anyway? There was way too much lace and glitter, you looked more like a couture model than someone going to a simple party. Okay, maybe it wasn’t as simple a party as you wanted to think it was. More like a retirement party than anything else, from what Mettaton and Alphys had explained to you. That just made you even more nervous. How did you handle that, gracefully? You’d never been to one before, but from what you’d heard of or seen on TV, they were always extremely dry, unpleasant experiences (minus the comedic hijinks the various sitcoms tried in vain to work in).

Sure, you’d already gone through the trouble of getting your boyfriend a present. Just to kinda…”fit the mood” of the whole shin-dig. It wasn’t a watch, thank god.

It was a mixtape his cousin Napstablook and friend Shyren had made. They’d shoved it at you out of the blue one day, asking that you “hype it up” for them or something like that, then left without another word. And being the musical wizard that you were (not that you were bragging or anything), you’d worked it into something you knew he’d love. Remixes always were his jam.

You only considered it a gift from you to him because you had yet to hear back from the duo about actually “getting” the mixtape back. Like they knew how short notice this whole thing was for you (Because. It was. Very short notice. Thanks Metta.) and were kind of giving you a metaphorical hand. Which is funny, because neither of them had hands. Well, Napstablook had like, weird little ghostly stubs and Shyren had her fins, but neither of them had like, fingers, so they didn’t really count in your mind.

Still, of course, they did have some part in it—a big part, actually—so you made a mental note to mention it when you slipped him the gift later that evening.

With a sigh, you turned from the mirror to look at the gift-basket you’d put together for him. A few bottles of (MTT-Brand) champagne, a few bouquets of flowers, a bottle of (MTT-Brand) cologne, some metal polish and the mix tape, all wrapped together neatly with a beautiful, glittering red bow. A nice little ensemble for what you hoped would be a nice little get-together. Knowing Monsterkind, though, you doubted it. They’d party (or riot) over just about every miniscule thing you could think of. It all seemed ridiculous to you at first, but then you remembered that humans were similar, in a sense.

The real shame here was that a damn _gift-basket_ looked better than you did.

You’d tried so many outfits on this evening. No matter what you did with your hair, it looked like a bird’s nest. And you didn’t even want to think about what your face looked like right now. You were probably a mess. Just one big, terrible, ribbonless mess. So, what was even the point?

Who would really miss you if you didn’t show up? You could easily just ask Alphys to deliver the gift-basket in your place. Or just give it back to Napstablook, since it was theirs originally and all.

But then there was Mettaton. He was expecting to bring you there personally. Not to mention there was hardly any time left to call and back-track. If you cancelled _now_ …it’d break his heart.

The very thought alone steeled your nerves.

You locked eyes with your mirror-self, gritting your teeth. So, you might not look like the cat’s meow, or the bee’s knees, or whatever other stupid, cute things you could think of. But you looked decent enough.

…God, you really didn’t want to go.

And it was all your own fault, too. Just because of these damn—damn curves! You knew some monsters were curvy, and some were nothing but curves. But in human standards you were just. Not perfect. You didn’t understand it, how Monsters could express attraction so freely, despite shape or size, but maybe that was just a “them” thing. They didn’t care about looks in the way that humans did.

You tried your best to focus on that, instead of the little voice whispering otherwise in the back of your head. Of _course_ he liked you. At least, that’s what Alphys had said when you’d brought your concerns up to her. All she’d done was roll her eyes. “Are you really that stupid? If he didn’t find you attractive, he wouldn’t have anything to do with you.”

Your first instinct was to reply with “Well, so much for personality,” but she’d already changed the subject before the words were out of your mouth. Still, while it was a while ago, it was a boost of sorts. And that, combined with your determination to make this night a good one for your boyfriend (because stars above did he need it), was enough to solidify your decision.

You could do this.

You could _do this._

You looked…okay. _And you could do this._

Man, your hands sure were shaking. Those were some shaky fingers you had there, as you stroked your hair into place and tried to force a smile. It didn’t quite reach your eyes, and you groaned, pressing your face into your palms to suppress the noise.

And then your front door opened.

If there was anything Mettaton had, it was style (or at least, his attempt at it). Your nearest hallway was immediately flooded with glittery smoke, and you could see his silhouette vogueing from somewhere in the mist. A deep, bass-y dance tune blared from an unseen source. You coughed and waved the smoke away, completely deadpan to his dramatics at this point.

“Hey, Metta.”

“ _Helloooo, darling~!”_ Without warning a leg came flying out of the smoke, slamming atop your vanity with such force that it made you jump. The red stiletto boot currently grinding into the counter was going to leave a mark, that much you knew. Good thing you’d just restocked on wood polish.

The rest of him followed shortly after, as he towered over you, a rose clenched between his teeth as he beamed. He smelled strongly of florals, trailing (and raining) glitter with every movement he made. So, he’d decided to use _that_ form for this whole thing, huh? Alphys must have given him an extra boost, or else you knew he wouldn’t normally be this energetic. He seemed happy.

And why not? This was his day after all.

“Are you ready to party, dearest? Oh, who am I kidding, of course you are! It’s my party after all.” He struck a dramatic pose, throwing his head back, the other sweeping out with the rose pinched between his fingers. A beat passed, before he leaned in close again, smile soft and nervous. “You are ready to go, right? If you need a little extra time—”

Your stomach twisted, a pit growing hard and uncomfortable. But you didn’t have a chance to respond before he gasped, “Oh, sweetheart, you look…gorgeous! Well, I mean. You always look gorgeous. There’s never a day when I don’t think you look—ah, but anywho! That’s not what I was on about in the first place.”

With a tiny flourish, he tucked the rose behind your ear. “There. Perfection.”

“Metta—” You tried softly, feeling your eyes begin to water. Oh no. Not here. Not now.

“Oh, darling, I can’t express how excited I am! This is finally it, my chance to shine. Sure, it’ll be a final performance, a last goodbye, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted! And then Blooky! Oh, they’ll be so happy to get the chance to take the lead as a producer, I know it. They’re so talented I—,” He paused for a moment, resting his palm atop the glass case where the tiny SOUL inside bounced and trembled. “I’m so happy for them. That I could finally give them this chance.”

“Metta—” Your voice broke. A tear slipped free before you could stop it, and you were too slow to catch it before he saw.

“Darling. Darling, what’s the matter?” He was quick to reach your side, grasping your hands as you tried to fight back the sobs you could feel building in your throat. “Aren’t you…happy? We’re going to be free. Finally, no more concerts. No more shows. We can spend all our time together, no more nasty messages or hate-mail! Don’t you,” his brow furrowed in confusion as he stroked the tears away, “Don’t you want that?”

You nodded wordlessly, unable to keep the tears from falling. Of _course_ you wanted this. His happiness, his chance to finally relax. The chance for both of you, really. It was just as he’d said, no more shows. No more interview, no more paparazzi. It’d be peace for you both, and you’d finally get a chance to spend more time together. You looked forward to that the most.

“I’m sorry, Mettaton. I’m! I’m happy I promise I just. I’m not feeling…I’m not—” A sob broke free, and you melted into his waiting arms, clutching him to you as tightly as you could. “How?”

“How…?” He stroked your hair.

You hated the bitterness the words left on your tongue. “How can you love someone who looks like me? I’m not like all those beautiful models you dance with, or the people who interview you, or the actors you work with. I’m…I’m just…”

“Different, darling.” He pulled back, tilting your chin up and forcing you to meet his eyes. The gold and crimson rings within pulsed rhythmically, syncing with the frantic beating of your heart. The longer you stared, the slower they became, and the easier it became to breathe. “You’re merely different. As is everyone. Is it _these_ you’re worried about?”

As he spoke, his fingers trailed down your sides, and you nodded, breath hitching as he moved closer. You’d never seen him this…focused before. It stirred something warm in you, where you were sure your SOUL would be.

“I love you for _you_ , darling. Size, shape, angle. None of that matters to me. I love you _so_ much—because you love me. Do you know how wonderful that feels, to be loved so deeply?” Slowly, he leaned up again, keeping one hand under your chin so that your gaze followed him.

The moment before he closed the distance between your lips, you swore you heard him mumble, _“Because you should.”_

You never thought this would be how your first kiss would go: you crying a waterfall, with him caging you against the countertop of your vanity. His lips moved against your slowly, deepening the kiss bit by bit. You reached up, letting a hand move to tangle in his hair, as his came up to comb through yours. The squeeze of his palm against your side made you gasp a bit. You could feel his smirk through your kisses, one after another. Until he finally drew back, letting you take a breath.

His eyes sparkled, pupils flickering between stars and hearts as he grinned. “How do you feel now?”

“Loved,” you mumbled back, gripping his shoulders with a rush of playful confidence, “but maybe…maybe we should try that again. Just to make sure it sinks in.”

He chuckled, deep resounding vibrations that made your heart leap, before leaning in again. “We’re going to be late for the party, aren’t we?”

Probably. But right now, you were too preoccupied to really care.

* * *

 ❤ ❤ ❤

* * *

 

 


End file.
